


Give Until There's Nothing Left

by NikoNotHere



Series: One-Shots [7]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, Drinking, Feelings Realization, First Dates, M/M, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Richard is beyond exhaustion,  having just finished touring. All he wants is to relax and take it easy, but his bandmates have something else in mind for his birthday.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Christian Lorenz | Flake
Series: One-Shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126496
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: Rammstein - First Dates - August prompt





	Give Until There's Nothing Left

Sweat prickled the back of his neck, and he felt his pulse thudding far too rapidly in his ears. He dodged a flying elbow and jumped to the side to avoid a knife pointed in his direction. It was madness, chaos, and drowned him with an intensity he’d never experienced. He felt completely and utterly overwhelmed, and wondered whether a heart attack or a stroke would come first to kill him, assuming he lived through this.

He flinched again as someone else ran up to him. All he wanted to do was run, duck away, save himself. But he was cornered now, and knew he was beaten. He surrendered as the man gripped tightly around him and screamed:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RICH!!!”

Stifling a sigh, Richard forced a smile onto his face as Till squished the life out of him. Past Till’s shoulder, he saw Schneider flourishing the knife to cut his cake as everyone else cheered and raised their champagne glasses.

“Thanks, Till. Appreciate you guys throwing this party for me,” he said, his voice a little choked as Till tightened his hug.

“No need to thank me,” Till assured, and Richard could tell by the extended squeezing that Till was probably already drunk. “We wanted to make sure you weren’t just sitting at home alone on your birthday!”

That actually was exactly what Richard wanted and had planned for. He'd been stressed beyond the point of exhaustion at the conclusion of their tour, and all he’d desired was to spend his birthday at home, curled up on his sofa with a glass of wine and one of the books he’d brought on tour and never read. He loved touring of course, more than anything else, but it always left him spent and worn out, and desperate to retreat into himself for awhile so he could recharge.

Those plans had been obliterated when Till, Schneider, Paul, Oli and Flake showed up with a few dozen of their friends to throw him a surprise party. His shock had been quickly replaced by panic as he tried to rush around his flat, tossing scattered clothes, guitars, and other mess into closets and cupboards. He’d not even had the strength to clean his apartment yet after getting back home, and now felt embarrassed that his friends and quite a few people he didn’t even know were tripping over his clutter. Granted, most were too drunk to notice, but it was the principle of the matter that bothered him.

Richard shook his head with a polite thank you as Oli tried to give him a drink. He’d stopped drinking champagne during the tour after a particularly awful evening where he’d chugged two full bottles in the span of ten minutes. He’d of course been sicker than a dog shortly thereafter, and even the thought of champagne still made his stomach clench.

“Come on, Richard!” Paul yelled from the dining room. “We’re lighting the candles!”

Begrudgingly, Richard trudged toward the call. He bent down to grab his jacket that he’d thrown on the floor yesterday but Flake stopped him.

“I’ve got it,” the taller man insisted. “Go blow out your candles. I’ll gather up the other clothes here too, don’t worry.”

Flake shooed Richard toward the rest of the party. At least that was one less thing he had to worry about, Richard thought as he pasted another smile on his face. Everyone cheered as he entered the dining room, raising their glasses in Richard’s honor. 

“There he is!” Paul hollered, rushing over to bear hug him. Richard pretended to laugh as he had the life squished out of him for the hundredth time that afternoon. “Come on, we’re gonna cut the cake!”

Paul dragged Richard through the rowdy group of people, most of whom Richard didn’t even recognize. He still smiled and thanked them regardless, nearly falling over from the insistent tugging of Paul at his arm. He situated Richard by the table next to the cake, then yelled sharply, "Flake, stay there! We're singing!"

In the background, Richard saw Flake abruptly trip over the armful of clothes he'd been trying to clean up from the floor. He then staggered sideways down the hallway, either trying to put away the clothes or losing his balance entirely, Richard didn't know. It was impressive how quickly everyone had gotten drunk, or maybe it just seemed that way when he was the only one *not* drunk, Richard thought to himself.

The already-loud group began singing an especially off-key and somehow even louder rendition of "Happy Birthday" as Oli flicked his lighter over the candles. Richard released a heavy breath, legitimately thankful for the sweet gesture from his friends. Even if he felt exhausted and would have preferred to be left alone for the day, Richard would ensure everyone felt appreciated for their kindness. 

It was the least he could do, he reasoned as he blew out his candles amid a roar of cheers. Richard's back suddenly stung from the sudden slap that Schneider cracked across it, but he held back a wince.

"How's it feel to be oooooold?" Schneider slurred at him, doing his best to cut the cake while a bit wobbly from intoxication.

With a genuine smirk of amusement, Richard shrugged.  
"It feels exactly the same as being younger, which I guess is a good sign." 

Richard's face fell yet again as Schneider handed him a giant piece of birthday cake. While the chocolate of the cake was tempting, he could see the middle of the cake was inundated with cherries. He swallowed, trying to keep his disappointment from reaching his face. Cherries were one of the few foods he absolutely despised, and he had a strong suspicion they'd accidentally gotten Till's favorite type: black forest cake, with an overabundance of cherries.

"Thanks, Doom," Richard said through his forced cheer. "Let me go get something to wash this down."

Thankfully Schneider didn't seem to care what happened to the piece of cake once he'd passed it out, so Richard squeezed his way back through people and into the kitchen. It was quieter in there, with much fewer strangers to smile at. He sighed once he reached his refrigerator, but instead of grabbing a drink, Richard surreptitiously opened his lower cabinet to reveal his trash can and slipped the plate of cake down into it.

As he went back across the kitchen, he nearly bumped into Flake a second time.

"Here," the man said in a hurry, shoving a can at him awkwardly. 

Richard grabbed the can as he groaned inwardly, already trying to decide where to hide the beer he'd been given, but then felt relief as he realized what it was.  
"Coke," he said thankfully, turning to look back up at Flake. "Thanks. I'm sick of alcohol." 

"Er, y-y-yes, n-no problem," Flake stuttered, brushing past him without further conversation.

Richard wondered whether alcohol made Flake's stutter worse, then figured he'd probably never noticed because he was always drunk as well.

With the thousandth sigh of the evening, Richard made his way back to the party. He proceeded to spend the next hour dragging himself from person to person and ensuring everyone else was having a good time and enjoying his birthday. Paul and Oli tried to feed him more cake, Schneider had somehow found an unopened bottle of champagne and forced him to uncork it for him, and Till very excitedly gave him a present: a very beautiful black leather guitar strap… that Richard already had two of. He still assured Till he loved it and would definitely use it, then quickly set the box in the closet by the door. Maybe he could regift it.

Just as Richard thought he couldn't stay awake much longer despite *his* party still charging on around him, he heard Paul begin yelling that they were out of champagne. 

"Oh thank fuck," Richard gasped, thinking he could finally begin pushing for an end to the party. He was about to suggest just that when Flake stumbled past him yet again, this time appearing to trip only over his own feet. Richard caught him, but that moment of hesitation instead of speaking up left a window for Paul to continue yelling. 

"Let's keep this party going!" he screamed, to which everyone in earshot cheered.

"At the strip club!" Till added, earning an even louder cheer.

"And first round is on us!" Schneider chimed in, with Oli nodding vigorously beside him. 

"Let's fucking go, then!" Paul's final direction began moving the mass of people out of Richard's apartment. 

"You should change," Flake quipped to Richard as he brushed himself off. "I'll drive you."

Richard didn't even hear Flake after the word "change," and he blearily stumbled back to his bedroom. Clothes, both his and not his were littered everywhere. The dining room and living room were both destroyed with trash and bottles scattered across them, and he saw a random guest leaving with his last box of leftover pizza he'd intended on eating for dinner. It would take him a week to get his house cleaned up, he thought miserably.

After kicking aside one last collection of plastic cups and bottles, he made it to his bedroom. Richard grabbed a t-shirt from what looked to be a clean pile, then a pair of jeans that didn't seem to be too wrinkled. He flopped face-down onto his bed, intending to finish changing. Before he could even think to sit back up, Richard was asleep, snoring gently with his face pressed into the bedspread.

\---

It was a scent that first broke through the empty void of Richard's dreamless sleep. It smelled like… cinnamon? 

With monumental effort, Richard opened his eyes to peek at the clock. He woke up fully when he saw it was well past midnight already.

"Fuck," he spat as he rolled off of his bed and hurriedly changed into the clothes he still held in his hands. He'd been asleep for nearly 3 hours. Everyone was going to be so pissed at him!

After nearly putting his shirt on backward, he finally managed to get dressed and braced himself for maneuvering through the trash piles around the apartment. 

To his great surprise, there was no mountain of clutter outside his door as he remembered. With a shake of his head, Richard figured he must have seen the pile in front of a different door. He must really have been exhausted.

As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, the smell that had woken him up hit him full force and caused his stomach to growl: warm cinnamon and baking meat with a hint of pepper. He felt his mouth falling open in shock as he saw the kitchen-- and even the rooms beyond it-- were absolutely, spotlessly clean. A small cupcake sat on the breakfast table with a tiny present box beside it. A bottle of what Richard saw to be his favorite wine sat beside the gift and cupcake with an empty wine glass ready and waiting.

What's more, Flake was still here. The gangly man was busy by the oven, pulling out some baked meat and fussing over what looked like a salad bowl. 

"What are you doing?" Richard blurted out. 

Flake yelped, searing his hand on the hot tray he'd just taken from the oven. He flailed his burnt fingers around after dropping the tray onto the top of the stove. 

"Sorry, sorry," Richard automatically apologized, rushing over to help. "I'll take care of it."

"No you won't," Flake snapped back.

Richard froze, surprised at the sudden force of Flake's statement.

"You've spent the entire afternoon "taking care" of everything you shouldn't have had to in the first place. Go sit down and I'll bring the food to you."

Still a bit stunned, Richard obeyed quickly and sat down at his breakfast nook. He noticed a place had been set for him, the plate, silverware and napkin all neatly presented.

Flake brought the meat and salad to the table, dishing them out onto the plate before him.

"Why did you do all this?" Richard asked in disbelief. "Was this the lamb I had in the refrigerator?"

"Yes it was," Flake confirmed. "And I did it because you deserve a real birthday meal. Everyone else was pretty much drunk by the time they got here and didn't want to listen to me when I said you may not be fond of a party right now."

"Are they all at the club?" Richard asked, remembering he needed to leave. "They must be upset that I haven't shown up."

He tried to stand up again but Flake firmly pressed his shoulder and kept him down.

"No, they're not," Flake assured. "And you're going to sit and eat. They're all having a plenty fine time without you."

Richard looked back down at his plate, and felt his mouth instantly water at the sight. The lamb was sizzling enticingly, and judging by the smell…

"Is this that cinnamon braised lamb recipe I was wanting to try?"

He saw a tiny smirk on Flake's face, the one he got when he was overly proud of himself.  
"Yes. The party guests ate almost everything you had, so I was forced to improvise a bit. You need more butter, and you're completely out of garlic. I made you a list."

Richard's confusion compounded.  
"Did you clean my entire apartment too? How did you do all that while drunk? And why?"

"Well yes, I did," Flake said brusquely. "But it's nothing, and no I wasn't drinking; I'm just this clumsy all the time. Someone had to make sure you were taken care of after the party and not forced to clean everyone else's mess. You needed good food and time to yourself, instead of worrying about several dozen random guests you didn't want in the first place. You have a problem with putting everyone else before yourself, at the expense of yourself."

Flake had switched from his aloof stance to a more commanding one, pointing his finger at Richard in reprimand.  
"You need to learn to say no and stand up for yourself."

"They all just wanted to do something nice," Richard protested. "The least I can do is be grateful and helpful in return."

Flake shook his head, then motioned for Richard to eat as he continued to tidy up the kitchen.  
"You're not obligated to accept every gesture from everyone," Flake admonished. "Especially not when it means running yourself into the ground and giving until there's nothing left. That's why I let you sleep and convinced everyone else to go party elsewhere."

Richard felt humbled by the man's thoughtfulness. "That's incredibly kind of you."

Flake shrugged. "It's what friends do."

As Richard took a bite of the perfectly cooked lamb, the gears in his head began turning, and then suddenly snapped into place. Of course; it was so obvious. How had it not occurred to him before now?

"No," Richard said incredulously, looking over at the awkward but sincere man bustling around his kitchen. "Not what friends do."

Flake looked over with a confused look on his face. "What?"

"It's not what "friends" do," Richard said, turning his chair to face Flake. "Friends bring a bunch of people over to my apartment, give me champagne that makes me sick and cake that I dislike, then leave me at home and go clubbing. *You* let me sleep, baked me a dish I've been wanting for weeks, cleaned my apartment, got me a cupcake flavor I love, and if I had to guess--"

Richard reached over and grabbed the little present, then asked, "May I open it?"

Flake blushed a little, but nodded. 

He tore open the paper and opened the little present, then grinned as he pulled out a box of high-end black hair dye.  
"There. See? A thoughtful present I can actually use."

Flake grumbled a bit, shrugging as he said, "It's really not all that special--"

"Yes it is!" Richard insisted. "You listened when I said how badly I needed to re-dye my hair because the red is almost halfway grown out. Nobody else paid attention to that. Just you."

A wide smile spread across Richard's face in realization. He knew he couldn't outright ask Flake if he had feelings for him, because the poor man would probably stutter himself to death in embarrassment. So, Richard decided to take the matter into his own hands-- gladly so.

"Flake, could you grab another plate and fork, please?"

"Oh, sure," Flake agreed quickly, seemingly glad to be free of Richard's awkward line of conversation.

"Just bring them over here to the table, yeah," Richard directed. "Thank you."

"What else do you need?"

"I need you to sit and eat this with me," Richard said. 

When Flake looked about to protest, Richard shook his head. "You told me not to put everyone ahead of myself, right?"

Flake nodded slowly.

"Okay, well, this is me doing something I want and standing up for myself. Flake, would you do me the pleasure of having a dinner date with me? That's what I'd like for my birthday to be perfect."

He smiled broadly and held his hand out, gesturing at the other chair by the table. Richard half expected Flake to deny everything and tell him no, but to his continued surprise, he didn't. Flake simply gave a quick nod, then sat down, a bit awkwardly.

"You're sure…?" the bashful man asked carefully, eyeing Richard as he politely set a napkin in his lap. "This isn't just you trying to appease someone else?"

Richard shook his head with a confident "no" and said, "This is definitely something I want. Thank you, Flake."

With the shyest of smiles, Flake popped the cork on the wine and poured them both a small glass. He held it up and toasted, "To your birthday, then."

"No," Richard corrected, "to a first date."

The two clinked their glasses together, then began one of the coziest, happiest meals Richard had ever been part of.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is almost a direct translation of my feelings and what I had to consistently tell myself this past week. It was incredibly cathartic to write and take time to put my emotions into words of a story. 
> 
> <3 I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
